


[Panwink] What Killed Mr.Lin?

by fanfictioning



Series: Grey Sky Universe [3]
Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Death, Gore, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 04:56:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12124998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictioning/pseuds/fanfictioning
Summary: Please, do not read this series.Instead, go to Wanna One Universe (https://archiveofourown.org/series/825354)Thank you.***First assignment as a reporter, is investigation about the death of run-of-the-mill joe-nobody.Simple task to punch in Date of Birth and be done.But why oh why, am I so curious.What killed Mr. Lin?***This is the Alternative Universe - Future Urban Fantasy.It's Omnibus.It is very, very dark, gloomy and gory.Kinda like Bland Runner-thingy.Please be warned beforehand, the usual Pan-Wink personality is not used in this series.If you want the usual sweet-lovey-dovey Panwink. Please do not read this series.This series is very explicit in its expression of depression and madness.





	[Panwink] What Killed Mr.Lin?

a

It was a stormy night.

Not really.

It was just another night of June, when Mr. Lin was found by the garbageman.

"First, I thought it was another those drunkards."

Mr. Lin was found belly down with his face sideways, his eyes half open, his skull bit cracked from the fall. The fall from the windows of his room, five floor high.

"Five-floor is not that sure of height to get you killed, but the concrete road did it. Cracked his skull, disjointed the brain from its spine."

Over-worked medic told me. Uninspired, and quite flatly. Surely, just another night.

"Peach! It's your first assignment."

Editor shoved the file at me.

Obituary.

Notice of death. Time of death. Name. Date of Birth. Age. Sex.

Some data points into sentence. That's it. It could have been done over lunch break. Ten minutes. A nanosecond by a bot. However,

What a curse. My imaginative brain couldn't help, but wonder.

What killed Mr. Lin?

b

Smell of old urine. Vomit and alcohol, sweat and blood.

I visited local police house, which desperately needed female care.

Ah.

That was uncorrect. I may get a visit from the supervisor tonight. What was the fine rate thesedays? Probably a half ration of vodka. But, that's okay, I don't drink anyway.

"What, about a dead guy? Which one?"

Irritated, and tired officer barked at me. Surely, he doesn't appreciate the inquiry of an first time reporter into not-his-business. Smiling tenderly, I put my half ration of vodka on the table and forth into his side of the desk. This shall refresh your mood, perhaps.

A. B. C.....H...I...J...K...L. L. Lin.

A file is put on the table and forth to my side of the table, while he sips on the vodka with straw.

Casually, I scan through the data file.

Male. 35 yrs. Everyday worker. Rented small room five story high on Maple Street. Parents deceased. No kins. Married once, divorced 2 years later. No children. Some dollars in his bank account. Not much else.

Not much else.

"I call it straight-to-grave case."

Straight to grave?

He motions with his hand a feet high and straight downwards to the desk.

Bam.

Just like that.

Jumped from his window.

Another tired guy taking a rest.

Imaginative brain, are you satisfied?

No

Next stop is the morgue.

c

A man with grass-colored shirt was looking blank at the blinking screen.

"Next, the most amazing thing that will happen this week---"

Backdoor of the hospital, is usually KEEP OUT of little one like me. Smiling tenderly, I put two sticks of cigarettes on the side of his small window.

The sound of my footsteps echo through the hallway. Dark, stinky and deserted. My feet on cold concrete seems to turn into shadow. The yellow-green light of escape-stairs shone unblinking.

[ESCAPE HERE]

I located the door to the morgue. The smell.

The smell of death.

d

She was playing Xxxbox murdering whole galaxy after another with her laser control. Of course, if you put all the dead bodies away, you have a nice large space to jump and swing your swords and guns. All virtual, of course. Safe like a whistle.

Xxxbox which has come out at the anniversary of 2056 Mars Project. Highly advanced state of the art virtual machine. Wear and dive into web of everything.

Some half eaten leftovers of KingMac and Cocka-cola were sprawled on the desk with used chopsticks and some bowls of ramen. The air of the basement was cool and dampy, and spacious enough for a person playing Galaxy Conquer

What a life.

Though, she seemed a bit engrossed. So, I decided to wait and helped myself with the leftovers of cold junkfood.

Hmm, lovin' shit.

e

Drying her hair, she walked out of the shower room. This morgue has everything. It might as well have been capsule hotel. I recall the nice big vending machine on the way to the morgue. I can probably get something on the way out. A nice cold drink, perhaps.

"Whatddya want?"

Dull and unblinking gaze set upon me. Her eyes seemed to shine in the headset gear, I must have been mistaken. The banality of life caught upon her after a round of game. The life of the morgue is nothing but a bit dampening for a young person.

I see latest character-figure of Dickackchu!! on her desk. She sure seems fond of virtual characters. Anything is probably better than bunch of dead guys. You can't really date any of them. I put the file on her desk.

She typed the name onto the screen and the machine on the other side of the room spit out the corpse. Automation, that's liberating. I looked into the dead body of the Mr. Lin.

"Quite boring, huh?"

She turned up the death-metal of the lastest indie band. Death-Metal, how fitting.

Hah Hah

Boring, it was. Nothing out of ordinary. Cracked skull, split lip, closed eyes, no sigh of injury or tattoo other than those from the fall. No criminal record. No outstanding achievement. Now, just a pile of protein ready to be eaten away with bacteria.

Nothing to see here.

Are you satisfied my imaginative brain?

No

Next is his house.

f

Walking through the road, filled with trash and torn hand-outs. I plunged into my thoughts. The sky seemed to color grayer than usual, imagining himself to urinate upon us. The noise of the street-commercial blasted upon my ear drums.

"Be the most beautiful face. Apply this plutonium-coated cream upon your groin---"

Yellow. Blue. Green. Red. The colors of the ads danced provocatively upon my eye lids. Good times, promise you good times, come visit our places.

My feet stepped on several bodies of homeless stuff. What a nuisance, I could have fallen down. What is garbage man doing?

Oh, there he is.

"What, a dead guy? There were some this week. I lost count after thirty-four. It is such a mess! I'm a garbage man. Not a body-dumper. I don't get paid over-time for this. Do you know how heavy those shits are? Those bloods, who knows what awfulness is in them. Really, you should tell the people about this. I just do garbage, I don't take people."

You may do humans as well. That's quite fitting, Garbage-Man.

Hah Hah

I kept going and going, The streets filled with filth.

I arrived at he big carved out plate, read 'MAPLE'

g

The front door was cracked in half and fallen away like rotten tree. I stepped on to the staircase.

Creak. Creak.

Smell of dust. Cockroaches and urine stunk my nostril.

Creak. Creak.

Where are you going, little friend? What don't you take a rest here, hmm?

Everybody and everything promise you to give, give, give but all they do, they take, take, take things away from you. Away from your hands, away from your hearts.

4th

5th

There are several doors.

Ah

I skipped the address part of the file.

Damn.

Those meaningless array of numbers were always hard to remember. They don't meaning anything. Bar-codes which printed out what you are.

What to do.

The doors. They look all alike. You can replace one with another. No one would notice. 501, 502, 503......511, 512.

What to do.

Hey, my imaginative brain, let's just go back. Just write some gibberish numbers and words upon the paper. Hey, it's dead. He's dead, Jim. Whatever he was, whoever what was. It's dead, gone, nada zill. Just go ahead, stuff some food down, watch some tv and go to sleep.

Doesn't that sound wonderful?

No

Fuck

h

I don't get paid for this. I knocked on the first door.

"Mr. Lin."

What a joke. Calling dead body.

I knocked some more.

No answer.

I knocked on the 502

No answer.

I knocked on the 503

No answer.

I knocked on...

Wait a minute.

He's dead.

What a joke.

What a joke.

Hah Hah

i

The door of 505 was knocked down with the yellow line 'DO NOT ENTER CRIME SCENE.' I ignored swiftly and kept my two sticks of cigarette. I entered the room.

One room apartment. With a bed, a dresser, a desk and a chair. Some clothes.

That's it.

The windows closed shut. I opened to let the air in.

The sky was now dark. It's urinating down on us.

Raindrops on roses..

Raindrops on roses...

and whiskers on kittens...

There are no roses or whiskers or kittens. All we have is raindrops which are urinating bullshits. Colors of advertisement, sound of the screen. These are a few of my favorite things...

Few of my..

Few of my..

..favorite things.

...The air was stinky and yucky. I looked down.

The place was marked with a bit of a white chalk which seemed to be laughing at me. The blood was washing away with the rest of the filth.

Into the sewer...

Into the sewer...

With a bit of everything called life

I closed the window.

j

I looked around the room once more.

There was nothing that spoke of who Mr. Lin were. Why did he jump? None of these things seemed to talk of why.

Why did he jump?

I asked upon the empty room once more.

Why, did he jump?

It answered,

Why not?

That's a good question

Why not?

My imaginative brain, are you satisfied?

He doesn't answer.

He is stubborn like that.

k

// Obituary

Lin, Guanlin.

Male, 35 years old.

Death by jumping.

No kins

// Rent

Room 505

Empty

Starts from $505/mo

 

 

fin.

**Author's Note:**

> ***
> 
> This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All characters and events in this fiction--even those based on real people--are entirely fictional.
> 
>  
> 
> ***
> 
> Hello, this is Jamie.
> 
> Comment and kudos, if you like.
> 
> Thank you.


End file.
